


Forever Home

by moonix



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: A pit-bull named War, Alternate Universe, And quizzes don't lie, Andrew is bad at flirting, Andrew is secretly a romantic at heart, Fluff, Horoscopes, M/M, Movie Theatre AU, Neil works at his uncle's movie theatre, No Angst, Pining, Popcorn, That's what the quiz said anyway, soft stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-17 07:55:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15456750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonix/pseuds/moonix
Summary: Neil works at a movie theatre. Andrew is his favourite (and only) customer.





	Forever Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lolainslackss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lolainslackss/gifts).



> This has not been beta-read and I apologise in advance if I messed up any of the terminology or Americanisms :') Written for a prompt by the lovely lolainslackss!

The Hatford movie theatre is old and tiny, jutting out on the corner of the street where Andrew lives like a leg stuck out to make you trip. It has an old-fashioned movie marquee, though half the light bulbs surrounding the titles have been broken for at least the last decade, and the posters outside are even more antiquated than that.

The inside is made up of scuffed wood and crushed, dusty velvet in wine-soaked red. It smells like melted butter and cleaning chemicals, and Andrew sucks down the scent like smoke from a cigarette as he pushes inside and out of the rain.

“If it isn’t my favourite customer,” says the boy behind the counter, flashing a cheeky smile at him over the top of his magazine. He’s the nephew of the owner, and spends most of his time reading his way through the latest gossip rags and decimating sticks of chewing gum in fruity flavours. Andrew shakes his wet hair out like a dog and steps across the threadbare carpet.

“I am usually your only customer,” he points out as he fishes for change in his pocket. Coins chirp like crickets around his fingers, and Neil exchanges them for a ticket stub. He must have started a new roll today, because the stub is a faded, dusky green where last night’s was muted blue. Andrew has been keeping them in a shoebox under his bed, though he’s not sure what for yet.

“Do you want your horoscope?” Neil asks, tapping at his magazine.

“I want my popcorn,” Andrew mutters. The Hatford only has one single popcorn machine, and the popcorn is always salty. It makes Andrew’s mouth pucker and sting, but it’s still better than no popcorn, and now that he’s started he can’t really go without.

“Alright, let’s see,” Neil hums. He absently scoops popcorn into a stripy paper bag as he skims the horoscope section. It ends up being way more than Andrew paid for, but it’s not like anyone else is buying the popcorn tonight. “So I’m guessing you’re a Scorpio.”

Andrew scowls and grabs his popcorn, thumb brushing against Neil’s fingertips by accident. They’re warm and shiny with excess butter, and for a split second of madness Andrew thinks about licking it off Neil’s skin.

“Here we go,” Neil says, ducking low over his magazine. “Scorpio, you experience feelings with the volume turned up. Your usual strategy of ignoring them until they quiet down might not be the most successful this month. Try instead to enter into a conversation with your inner self and listen to your needs in order to make peace.”

“I don’t have needs,” is Andrew’s brilliant retort to that. He bites his tongue and glares down at his popcorn, but Neil only huffs a tiny laugh.

“Alright, edgelord. Mine told me to mind my temper again. I’m starting to think they just recycle old ones every few weeks because they’re running out of bullshit to sell.”

“Or you just need to mind your temper a lot,” Andrew says. “Yell at any hapless customers lately?”

“That was one time, and he deserved it,” Neil grumbles, steals a piece of popcorn from Andrew’s bag and flicks it at him. Andrew catches it and sticks it into his mouth.

“Not what your uncle said when the guy complained.”

“Yeah, well, my uncle’s British. If someone stepped on his foot he’d apologise for standing in their way.”

Neil’s pesky fingers fidget their way back into Andrew’s popcorn. This time he eats the spoils himself, licking the salt off the pad of his index finger. He’s wearing a soft red hoodie that clashes horribly with his hair, and there’s a smudge of ink on his cheek from the pen he uses to fill in the quizzes in his magazines. Last night he decreed that Andrew is secretly a romantic at heart after asking him a string of silly questions, and Andrew told him not to get his hopes up in a pathetic attempt at flirting.

“Want to go for a smoke? There’s still time,” Neil says, like he’s not in charge of when to start the movie. Andrew follows him outside and they huddle together underneath the marquee, rain splashing on their feet as Andrew lights Neil’s cigarette for him. The light of the flame splashes over his cupped palm before nestling down safely in the tip of the cigarette, and Neil takes a deep drag and blows the smoke out of the corner of his mouth, drenched in a smile.

“You’re going to like tonight’s selection,” he tells him. “Some kind of noir detective shit. Stuart goes potty over it.”

“Look who’s being British now,” Andrew scoffs.

“Shut up,” Neil grins, pressing his thumb to his front teeth. He always does that, like he’s self-conscious about his teeth or something. They’re a little crooked from where Andrew can see, but there’s nothing else really noticeable about them.

Andrew wets his lips and takes a drag from his cigarette. A car drives past, upsetting a puddle, its headlights boring white-hot holes into the darkness. If he squints, he can just about make out the shapes of the night-soaked clouds stuffed into the cracks of the sky as if to stop starlight from leaking out and drowning them.

“How’s War?” Neil asks, referring to Andrew’s recently-adopted pit-bull. Andrew never meant to have a pet, but he made the mistake of going with Nicky when he picked out his new dog, and War had sneaked up on him with a candy wrapper in her mouth like a present. And so what if the shelter had reminded him a little too much of the children’s home where he’d spent day after day waiting for someone to pick him over the many better-behaved, better-groomed kids.

He’s made his own fucking forever home now, he reminds himself, just down the street. With a bedroom just for himself, a little balcony for smoking and staring into space, and now War with her army of chew toys strewn all over the apartment.

“She is fine,” Andrew says. “Aaron wanted her for a walk. I’ll bring her tomorrow.”

“I got her some treats,” Neil informs him sheepishly. “And I found this cuddly toy – here…”

He extricates his hand from the pocket of his jacket – a nice, worn denim jacket with studs on the collar – and holds out something violently orange and fluffy.

“Is that supposed to be a fox,” Andrew says.

“I think so. That’s its tail… and the ears, see?”

“That’s hideous,” Andrew hums, picking the poor creature up by the scruff of its neck. “She is going to love it, I’m sure.”

Neil beams at him and something twists in Andrew’s stomach, sharp and bitter like too much cinnamon.

He really doesn’t need another addition to his forever home.

“Guess I should start the movie,” Neil murmurs, breathing twin streams of smoke from his nostrils before stubbing his cigarette out on the wall. He ducks back inside, and Andrew lingers for a moment to finish his own cigarette, hand curled around the fox toy.

“You staying out here?” he asks when he’s back inside the damp-warm foyer. The rain fades back to a whisper, and Neil steals another handful of Andrew’s popcorn before passing the bag over to him.

“I gotta,” he says, like every night. “In case someone else comes in.”

“It’s already twenty past,” Andrew points out. “There’s no late showing. Might as well lock up.”

Neil sucks a smear of butter from his finger and pops it free of his mouth with a smack.

“Well… I suppose I could, just this once,” he says. Like every night.

Andrew snorts and watches him as he ambles over to the door and locks it, flipping the sign. His jeans are tighter than usual and Andrew might be checking out Neil’s ass, just a little, and forgetting how to swallow properly. Just a little.

Neil catches him looking and his mouth quirks up in a smile that makes Andrew’s stomach jolt like he missed a step going down the sixty-four stairs from his apartment to the ground floor.

“Shall we?”

Andrew leads the way up to the small balcony that overlooks the theatre and settles into his usual spot. There are tables with dim little lamps set into the railing, and the walls are muffled in faded black felt and decorated with pictures of Charlie Chaplin and Greta Garbo. Neil busies himself with the film projector, then fumbles off the lights until only the neon green exit sign remains.

“Ready?” he whispers. Andrew doesn’t reply, but Neil pulls back the heavy curtains and finds his way over to him in the dark.

Andrew barely pays attention to the opening credits. Neil’s arm briefly presses up against his as Neil makes himself comfortable in the seat beside him. He passes over a soda he sneaked from the fridge downstairs, so cold it numbs Andrew’s tongue when he takes a sip.

“Hey, so,” Neil murmurs after a while, even though they don’t usually talk during the movie. “Monday’s my day off, and I was thinking…”

“Wow,” Andrew says sarcastically. It sounds much too loud in the empty theatre. “You’re thinking now? Good for you.”

“You think you’re so funny,” Neil scoffs. “Anyway, I was thinking we could go somewhere else for a change.”

“Somewhere else?”

“Yeah,” Neil says. “For our date.”

Andrew will maintain to his dying day that he got a popcorn kernel stuck in his throat and that’s why he’s almost choking to death right now. Neil merely holds his soda for him and waits until he’s caught his breath.

“What do you think?”

“You mean it’s not enough that _you’re_ thinking, now I have to be thinking too?” Andrew gripes, throat still plenty rough from his coughing fit.

“Well, I refuse to do all the work in this relationship,” Neil says cheekily, then reaches down and laces their fingers together. Andrew is so shocked he doesn’t even remember to pull away, and then they’re holding hands for good and surely it would be weird if Andrew changed his mind about that now.

“I was not aware we were in a relationship,” he croaks.

“I was joking,” Neil huffs. “Wait… you were aware that we were dating though, right?”

Andrew fakes another cough and takes another gulp of his soda.

“Of course,” he says when he can’t stall anymore.

“Good,” Neil mutters. “That would have been really embarrassing otherwise.”

“Very,” Andrew agrees.

“Great, so, now that we’ve established that…”

“We could watch a movie at my place,” Andrew blurts out. It’s not a euphemism – unless Neil wants it to be a euphemism, maybe. Andrew’s never invited anyone to his place _like that_ before.

“Sounds nice,” Neil says, no trace of sordid thoughts on his face. Andrew isn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. “I can bring pizza. What toppings do you like?”

“Didn’t we do a quiz on that last week,” Andrew counters.

“Yeah, but it said something about pineapple that I don’t wanna repeat because it was rude.”

“Pineapple it is, then,” Andrew concedes. “No ham, though.”

“Just pineapple?”

“Cheese,” Andrew decrees. “Lots and lots of cheese.”

Neil hums and turns back to the movie they’ve both been ignoring. Andrew suspects his soul might be in the process of leaving his body when Neil starts absently playing with Andrew’s fingers.

“Neil?” he whispers, just as Neil is getting absorbed in the movie again.

“Yes?” Neil whispers back.

“Just to clarify,” Andrew says. “Since we are dating… does that mean I can kiss you?”

Neil makes a tiny sound, something like an amused hiccup, and squeezes Andrew’s hand.

“Yeah, Andrew,” he whispers. “You can definitely kiss me.”


End file.
